Superconductor Classical and Opera

Memorial for Paul J. Pelkonen

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 21 Jun 2019 02:32:00 +0000

by Jessie Tannenbaum

"A statue has never been erected in honor of a critic." —Jean Sibelius

A memorial service for Paul J. Pelkonen will be held on Sunday, June 30, at 12:00pm at the Daniel J. Schaefer Funeral Home, 4123 Fourth Ave, Brooklyn, NY 11232. All who loved Paul are welcome. Please, no flowers.

Paul loved small, local opera companies, in particular the Regina Opera Company, based in his neighborhood of Sunset Park. We encourage you to honor Paul's commitment to "critical thinking in the cheap seats" with a donation to Regina Opera Company. Please donate via Paypal (please put "In memory of Paul J. Pelkonen" in the special instructions field) or by check to Regina Opera Company, PO Box 150253, Brooklyn, NY 11215 (please put "In memory of Paul J. Pelkonen" in the memo line). You can visit the Regina Opera Company website for more information about donating.

Thank you to all who have sent kind words and condolences to Emily and to Paul's family and friends. While we have not been able to respond to every message, card, email, and social media comment, your words are deeply appreciated and have brought comfort in this difficult time.

In Memoriam: Paul J. Pelkonen

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 14 Jun 2019 03:43:00 +0000

by Jessie Tannenbaum

Paul J. Pelkonen

April 12, 1973 – June 12, 2019

It is with great sadness that we announce that Paul Pelkonen died suddenly yesterday of cardiopulmonary arrest, at his home in Brooklyn. Paul lived a life full of joy, and dedicated his life to sharing with others the joy he found in music. We hope that Superconductor brought joy to everyone who reads this.

Paul and Emily at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC, Dec. 23, 2018

A lifelong Brooklynite, Paul was a proud alumnus of Stuyvesant High School, Fordham University, and the journalism school at Boston University. The only things he loved more than music were his partner of 14 years, Emily Ravich; their niece Lilo and nephew Bobby; his chosen family and extended family; and his beloved borough of Brooklyn and city of New York. Paul was loved by many and will be deeply missed.

Memorial information will be forthcoming.

Opera Review: No Escape, No Parole

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 10 Jun 2019 02:12:00 +0000

The Philharmonic unlocks David Lang's prisoner of the state.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

The climactic confrontation of David Lang's prisoner of the state.
Photo by Chris Lee © 2019 The New York Philharmonic,

The New York Philharmonic ended its Lincoln Center season this week with prisoner of the state, a new opera from the pen of contemporary composer David Lang. Mr. Lang, whose unconventional list of stage works include battle hymns (set deep within the bowels of the U.S.S. Intrepid and an opera created entirely from whispers, seemed like an ideal choice for this endeavor. This new opera, co-commissioned with ensembles in five other cities, is an ambitious re-telling of Beethoven's Fidelio. However, unlike many of Mr. Lang's stage works, this production, mounted on a specially built stage in David Geffen Hall, proved itself a serious misfire.

It should have worked. prisoner (the lower case is a Lang trademark) follows the plot of Beethoven's lone opera, a work that composer revised many times until achieving its final form. The story is simple: a wife with a husband in the hoosegow shears off her hair, dresses as a man and helps rescue him from certain death. This new libretto strips out Beethoven's awkward attempts at domestic opera-comedy. It also relieves the characters of their names. Finally Mr. Lang chose a dark "twist" ending worthy of middle-season Game of Thrones. (We'll get to that in the last paragraph.)

Mr. Lang is a fearless, ground-breaking composer, but his choices offer little relief to the listener over 70 minutes, especially if Beethoven's opera is familiar to the listener. This new score is percussive and repetitive, with blasts of bass drum and stark minimalist harmonies. The choral writing is skilled and the male members of the Concert Chorale of New York were on point. These fellas were confined to the acoustically dodgy back line of this house crowded together on a high walkway above the stage. Even in their singing, the optimism of Beethoven has been replaced with something much more astringent.

At Saturday night's performance (the final one of this short run) the strong cast did their best with this stuff. Coloratura soprano Julie Mathevet was a feisty and welcome presence as the Assistant, this opera's light-voiced substitute for Beethoven's dramatic heroine. She sings with alacrity and energy but was not allowed in the tight time frame to develop much as an interesting character. Eric Owens was in excellent voice Saturday night, and his dark heavy portrayal of the Jailer reminded viewers that people who work in corrections are locked up along with their charges every day. He was flanked by a chorus of four menacing guards, stacking the odds.

As the Prisoner himself, baritone Jarrett Ott had to sing his first lines, Salome like from a specially built well beneath the acting surface. He did a decent job of appearing tired and emaciated but his warm tone and burly presence were at clear odds with the character's plight. As The Governor, the opera's villain, tenor Alan Oke gleefully chewed scenery and sang with piercing force into an obvious head mic. He was draped in a purple greatcoat uniform that made him look as if the Joker had gotten a job as a hotel doorman.

The show looked great (the design is by Matt Saunders) aside from the lighting designer's (Theatermachine) occasional decision to shine high-powered theater pieces right into the eyes of the audience. The orchestra was divided in two, to make a lane for the actors. The chorus, in chrome shackles and sodium-yellow jumpsuits (they looked like the "Kiln" prison outfits in Guardians of the Galaxy) looked appropriately oppressed. Their population was swollen with black and white film of more prisoners, suggesting a vast correctional facility with a large and seething population, ready to burst into riot at any moment.

At the climax of the work, the Assistant reveals herself and draws a gun just as the Governor is going to murder her husband. The trumpets sound offstage. The inspectors have arrived. And then the bad guy calmly takes the Assistant's gun away, delicately slipping it into the pocket of his purple greatcoat. All the characters, the now-uncuffed Prisoner included, sing at the audience about how all of us in the world are in shackles, it's just that some of them are more visible than others. This ending, (or lack of one) may reflect the problems of a world that uses private incarceration, torture and hidden "black prisons" to make its population feel safe and secure. In this "Shawshank," there was no redemption for anyone.

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Concert Review: The Follies of Youth

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Sat, 08 Jun 2019 21:56:00 +0000

The Philadelphia Orchestra at Carnegie Hall.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Beatrice Rana onstage at Carnegie Hall with members of the Philadelphia Orchestra in the background.
Photo by Paul Vincent.

Yannick Nézet-Séguin and the Philadelphia Orchestra returned to Carnegie Hall on Friday night for the last of their appearances this season. For this program, Mr. Nézet-Séguin chose a pair of mostly forgotten and badly neglected early works by prominent Russian composers Igor Stravinsky and Sergei Rachmaninoff. These Russian rarities flanked the more familiar Third Piano Concerto by Serge Prokofiev with soloist Beatrice Rana.

The concert started with the Carnegie Hall premiere of Igor Stravinsky's Funeral Song, an early (1908) work written as a memoriam to the composer's teacher and mentor Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov. It lay undiscovered in the library of the St. Petersburg Conservatory in 2015 and is only now getting a hearing around the world. In this slow dirge-like single movement it is possible to hear the DNA of what would eventually become The Firebird a few years later. The elements include Russian Orthodox church modes, a sense of dour ceremony and a grand sweeping sound that would overwhelm and enthuse audiences just a few short years later.

Serge Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No. 3 was next with featured soloist Beatrice Rana. After a short, thoughtful introduction for the clarinet and winds, Ms. Rana leaped right into the fray, her fleet fingers pounding out the main subject matter as the orchestra scurried in her wake. This is fearsome stuff, exploding into a galaxy of shooting arpeggios. The piano's motion is perpetual against the quicksilver orchestration, skittering off into virtuoso flights that come briefly back to earth, only to springboard once more into that main thematic piano idea played with even greater intensity than what came before.

Ms. Rana slowed in pace but not intensity for the central movement, a set of five witty variations on a thematic idea. With Mr. Nézet-Séguin, she lead a thrilling exploration of each of these, from the slow run up the keyboard that starts the movement to the galloping second variation. The third is urgent with hints of jazz ideas and the fourth slow and weird. Ms. Rana saved her most heroic playing for the final movement, a friendly and yet intense argument between keyboard and orchestra with all the intensity of a Russian chess match. At Mr. Nézet-Séguin's good-hearted (but visible) insistence, the artist treated Carnegie Hall to an elegant Chopin encore to close the first half of the evening.

Sergei Rachmaninoff holds much in common with his countryman. Both composers made their reputations as touring virtuosos but Rachmaninoff's travels never took him back to the Soviet Union. He belongs to the generation before Prokofiev, having exited the Moscow Conservatory in 1892. His Symphony No. 1 premiered in 1897 and was by all accounts a dismal failure. The First spent fifty years in darkness before the score was reconstructed in Moscow in 1945. It is still a rarity, rolled out for Rachmaninoff festivals or for conductors making complete cycles of his three symphonies.

The first movement is bursting with ideas and all the enthusiasms of a young composer looking to make his mark. And that's the problem: it's all over the place. There is a bold main theme, an answering second subject and over all, the Dies Irae, the ponderous medieval chant that fascinated the composer and is present in most of his major works. The development veers suddenly into a bizarre fugue, showing great technical deficiency but doing too little to move the work forward. Thanks to the artistry of the Philadelphia players, even this middling stuff sounded good.

Mr. Nézet-Séguin found great beauty in the second movement, a slow Scherzo with the clear influence of Tchaikovsky. The Trio of this opened the vistas of the thematic material into some interesting minor-key territories. The slow movement featured a gorgeous clarinet solo, but meandered. In the last movement, one had the sense of a novelist deep in the thickets of his own work and having trouble finding the ending. When it did come, the blasts of gong and brass proved anticlimactic despite the high level of execution. Perhaps some symphonies deserve to be forgotten.

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Concert Review: Take Me to Church

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 07 Jun 2019 21:50:00 +0000

Bernard Labadie unveils his visionary OSL Bach Festival.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Bernard Labadie (right) leads the new Orchestra of St. Luke's Bach Festival.
Photo by Dario Acosta.

"Tonight, we are in church." These words were spoken by Orchestra of St. Luke's president James Roe as he introduced Thursday night's program, Music of the Spirit, at Zankel Hall, the subterranean mid-sized venue that is part of the Carnegie Hall building. Bach was a man of deep religious conviction but the bulk of his church music, (aside from the major choral works like the Passions and the Mass in B minor) remains unknown to the casual listener. With this concert, the first night of a new month-long Bach festival by the Orchestra, the goal is to correct that oversight.

Music director Bernard Labadie took the time to introduce some of the more unusual morsels on the evening's menu. Then the music started. The small OSL orchestra used a mixture of modern and traditional instruments. The result was a slightly dry, middle-sized sound that would prove ideal in support of the human voice. The geometric perfection of Bach's overture writing coalesced in the limited subterranean space of Zankel Hall, elevating the listener from their seats deep below the streets.

Mr. Labadie then led the first unusual dish on his Bach "tasting plate." This was two verses of the aria "Alles mit Gott und nichts ohn' ihn." The aria, written in 1713 but remaining undiscovered until 2005, is just four pages of music for soprano, continuo and strings. However, it is repeated twelve times in an apparent effort at early minimalism. Since the complete work is forty minutes of the same thematic material over and over again, Mr. Labadie and soprano Lydia Teuscher subjected the audience to just two of these verses. This excerpt allowed both singer and instrumentalists passages in which they shone brightly.

Next came a carefully chosen pairing of overture and cantata. First, the Overture from "Die Elenden sollen essen" ("The miserable shall eat") in a bright G major. Second the C major cantata itself, "Jauchzet Gott in allen Landen" ("Exult in God in every land") resounded its bright, uplifting call, again with Ms. Teuscher firmly in the lead. This cantata gave the soprano an opportunity to display her coloratura abilities in the final movement, an "Alleluia" in which her voice dove and scampered, intertwining joyfully with an equally elaborate solo trumpet line.

The second half began with another lengthy introduction from Mr. Labadie. The work being performed was "Tilge, Höchster, meine Sünden", and Mr. Labadie took the time to introduce its tormented musicological history. As he explained it, this was a setting by Bach of the Stabat Mater by Pergolesi, a work that proved ubiquitous in Catholic churches in the early 18th century. Bach re-wrote the piece to a German translation of Psalm 51, more palatable to his Lutheran congregation. In doing so, he changed the music considerably, elaborating on the original orchestration. If you know the Pergolesi it is recognizable but the final effort is uniquely Bach.

With that bit of rigmarole out of the way, this proved to be a lovely and meditative work that captures the reflective spirit of the original. The Stabat Mater is a medieval poem imagining the Passion of Christ from the point of view of the Virgin Mary, weeping at the foot of the Cross. Bach retained the emotional punch of the original but added complex vocal lines for soprano (Ms. Teuscher) and countertenor Benno Schachtner to take full possession of this musical property. The results, delivered in a hushed and meditative Zankel Hall, were much like attending a religious service. One must only express awe at the fervor of the composer's creativity, and at the zeal with which Mr. Labadie and his orchestra brought this rare music back to the population of a cold and cynical metropolis.

The OSL Bach Festival continues over the next three weeks. Two more concerts are scheduled for the Zankel stage, each on Thursday nights. The newly-renovated auditorium at Manhattan School of Music hosts the orchestra playing with the Paul Taylor Dance Group, offering modern-balletic interpretations of the composer's instrumental works. Finally, there is a set of intimate recitals at the DiMenna Center, the excellent modern facility that became this ensemble's permanent home in 2010.

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Pitchforked

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 07 Jun 2019 19:55:00 +0000

The Met tones down La Damnation de Faust.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Susan Graham (left) and Marcello Giordani (right) in a tender moment from
the Met's 2008 staging of La Damnation de Faust. Photo by Ken Howard © 2008 The Metropolitan Opera.

If you were planning on seeing the Metropolitan Opera's unique and visually mind-blowing production of Berlioz' La Damnation de Faust next season, you are out of luck. In an e-mail sent to subscribers (and obtained by Superconductor) the Met has announced that the company's presentations of the hybrid opera-oratorio will not be seen in its staging as originally envisioned by director Robert Lepage. The remainder will be mounted as concert performances in the vast opera house. Also, there will be just four shows, as three of the performances are cancelled.

Premiering in 2008, the Lepage staging of La Damnation was the Quebec-born director's first show for the vast Metropolitan Opera stage. It starred Susan Graham, John Relyea and was a fantasia of creative digitally enhanced visuals. I vividly remember soldiers marching up the walls of the opera's set, horses hurtling through a hellish darkness and amazingly, an underwater scene that was better than the one in the same director's later staging of Das Rheingold. It was revived just once, a year later and quickly mothballed.

This is the second time in three seasons that the Met has yanked a major production for a dull concert evening. The last occasion was when the company cancelled an eagerly anticipated version of Verdi's La Forza del Destino in 2017, replacing it with the Verdi Requiem in concert and a few "family style" run throughs of The Magic Flute. Those Requiem performances, mounted with the chorus and soloists in evening wear in front of a tobacco-brown wooden wall, were nothing to write home about. (Superconductor wrote about them anyway.)

The e-mail reads:

"We’re writing to inform you, as a ticket buyer to Berlioz’s La Damnation de Faust, of an important change. The performances of La Damnation de Faust on January 25 and 29, and February 1 and 8, 2020, will be converted into concert presentations, similar to the Met’s Verdi Requiem performances in the 2017–18 season. Performances on February 4, 12, and 15, 2020, have been cancelled."

"The decision to present La Damnation de Faust in its more usual concert version is driven by the unanticipated technical demands of reviving the Met’s staged production, impossible to accommodate within the company’s production schedule. The cast, including mezzo-soprano Elīna Garanča, bass Ildar Abdrazakov, and tenors Bryan Hymel (January 25, 29) and Michael Spyres (February 1, 8) sharing the title role, remains unchanged. Edward Gardner is the conductor."

The bit about "unanticipated technical demands" is interesting especially from an opera company that just revived Mr. Lepage's even more challenging version of the Ring cycle this season, and has mounted other Lepage shows (The Tempest, L'amour de Loin) in recent years. Mr. Lepage has been selected to direct the company's new staging of Die Zauberflöte for the 2020-21 season, but to quote our colleagues at parterre box, "don't hold your breath."

Berlioz broke new ground in this work, which combines the complexity of choral music with a vivid re-telling of Goethe's morality tale. However, the extravagant staging demands of the libretto mean that most performances of this piece are done in a "concert" format. While one can still experience the Met's visionary Damnation in the theater of the mind, thanks to these cancellations, New York has lost half of its opportunities to do so.

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Opera Review: The Queen of Underland

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Thu, 06 Jun 2019 03:55:00 +0000

Dido and Aeneas are laid in earth.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

The nocturnal court of Carthage: Dido (Danela Mack) flanked by her handmaidens.
Photo by Kevin Condon for The Death of Classical.

When it comes to performing operas in innovative locations, it is hard to beat the catacombs deep within Brooklyn's Green-Wood Cemetery. Last night, before a packed house, The Angels' Share offered the premiere of its season-opening staging of Dido and Aeneas. Written by Henry Purcell in 1688, this is the oldest English-language opera to have a place in the repertory.

A performance at The Angel's Share is a theatrical event even before one gets to the venue. The catacombs are set deep within the vastness of Greenwood, and the road to them is steep, winding up the bony glacial ridge at this end of Brooklyn that once was a Revolutionary War battlefield. Now it's the resting place of the famous, the elite and New York's middle class, a deep and silent preserve of the unliving. There's also a whiskey tasting beforehand, giving strength for the journey and adding to the sense of occasion.

The small five-piece baroque ensemble was located all the way at the back of the long, arched tunnel. A simple platform stage stood at about the middle of the catacomb, and the actors made their entrances and exits from the low doorways where the crypts are stored. House lights were a string of big incandescent bulbs suspended along the ceiling, and stage lighting (by Tláloc López-Watermann) was done mostly using small, versatile LED units. LED strips on the floor added to the available visual effect.

We sat, two by two with lower seats in the front and higher stools in the back. Sometimes it was possible to have line-of-sight to the stage but in this opera, with its slow pace, sense of ceremony and largely static action, it was the sound that was important. And what a sound it was, immersing, engulfing, sometimes completely overwhelming as it resonated, cleanly and clearly against the curved earthen vault above our heads.

On the small stage, the drama unfurled. Dido (Danela Mack) sang with a dark, powerful voice, conveying the Carthaginian queen's arc from royal monarch in full pomp and circumstance flanked by her handmaidens Belinda (Molly Quinn) and Anna (Brooke Larimer) She spent the first part of the opera fighting off the unwelcome attentions of King Iarbas (Paul Greene-Dennis) and fending off Aeneas too. Simple, magnificent costumes by Fay Eva added to the splendor of the limited visuals, possibly the richest finery ever worn here in the city of the dead.

Aeneas is the lesser role here but baritone Paul La Rosa gave the intrepid Trojan prince plenty of presence and vocal weight. His performance was only hampered by the fact that he is, throughout this work a secondary figure to Dido. It was only after a great and complex courtship that Ms. Mack made the transition to a woman in love, only to have her heart broken when Aeneas follows his destiny. In her final lament "When I am laid in earth," Ms. Mack sang with careful, rich deliberation, putting weight in each syllable of the text and providing power and presence as the Queen slowly expired.

The star-crossed pair were surrounded by a good supporting cast. Mr. Greene is a find, a powerful bass with presence and a resonant voice. Soprano Vanessa Cariddi made the Sorceress a terrifying figure, flanked by demonic handmaidens of her own and capering in the hellish electronic light. Conducting from the keyboard, Eliott Figg led a taut and supple account of the score, flanked by a quintet of period strings. This smart and stylish performance was a good start to The Angel's Share's second season, and one left looking forward to the next opportunity to delve deep into music beneath the earth.

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Concert Review: The Ignition Sequence

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Tue, 04 Jun 2019 22:23:00 +0000

Yannick Nézet-Séguin leads the MET Orchestra at Carnegie Hall.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

There comes a time in the career of an opera singer where, through either good fortune or exceptional skill, they rise from the ranks of the roster and ignite as a genuine operatic star. For the Isabel Leonard, 2018-19 at the Metropolitan Opera was that year, where the mezzo-soprano rose to the occasion in three major roles: Marnie, Melisande and Sister Blanche in Dialogues des Carmelites. On Monday night, Ms. Leonard capped a season which featured performances as Marnie, Melisande and Sister Blanche with a performance at Carnegie Hall, accompanied by the MET Orchestra under music director Yannick Nézet-Séguin.

The concert started with Mr. Nézet-Séguin leading the orchestra in Debussy's La Mer, a concert staple but not the usual repertory for the Metropolitan Opera's players. However, steeped (as they have been this year) in the French operas of the twentieth century, this three-movement set of sea pictures held no nauticual terrors. Mr. Nezet-Seguin obtained exceptional clarity from the strings, and brought the big horns in with subtlety and grace. The swelling first-movement climax came to its impressive peak, but the conductor and players seemed more interested in the delcate, diminishing notes that end the movement.

Debussy's achievement in this work was to establish his own orchestral voice, a concordance between the use of modes, the orchestral light and shade of Wagner, and the five-note scale that dominates Asian music. The freshness and originality of his approach never ceases to astonish. In the two following movements, Mr. Nézet-Séguin and his players navigated through the dance and play of dappled sunlight on the water, and the thunderous third movement, where the thematic climax of the opening movement comes back in a totally transformed way.

Ms. Leonard joined the orchestra next, for the Carnegie Hall premiere of Henri Dutilleux's Le temps l'horloge. This is a short set of five pieces, the composer's final work before his death in 2014. Dutilleux had a short catalogue of works but his influence is long, and these quirky, fiercely inventive songs proved an ideal challenge for the singer. She was accompanied by inventive percussion, occasional bursts of harpsichord and shifts between developed themes and angular tone-rows in the titular "The Hours and the Clock", whose quirky orchestration reminded one of the first opera by Ravel.

The ensemble shifted into a dazzling set of complicated rhythms for "Le masque." Somber tones for the central "Le dernier poème". After a brief instrumental passage, the final song “Le futur antérieur" ended on an upward flight of fancy, as Ms. Leonard and Mr. Nézet-Séguin leapt together up the scale. In their capable hands, it was as if Mr. Dutilleux' last musical gesture before his death was a swift ascent into the celestial firmament.

The mezzo returned for the second half of the program which was entirely works by Ravel. Shéhérazade is a setting the heady milieu of the Arabian Nights as filtered through the French poetry of (here comes a marvelous pseudonym) Tristan Klingsor. The set opened with the orchestral fantasy "Asie," rich in detail and ornamental orchestral "Orientalism" filtered through the composer's magnificent eye for the smallest detail. Ms. Leonard rode the waves of orchestral sound as the listener's guide on the great Silk Road. The gentle, teasing "La flûte enchantée" was ideal for Ms. Leonard as was the closing, ambiguous "L'indifferent," a work that teases at the ideas of gender ambiguity with its taut rhythms and ambivalent, wandering themes.

The concert ended with more Ravel, the epic sweep of the Second Suite from his ballet Daphnis et Chlöe. This consists of three sections of the ballet, which in its entirety is Ravel's longest and most massive work. The slow, shimmering "Daybreak" rose up out of the orchestra to magnificent effect, rising to a gigantic climax in the brass that echoed the earlier magnificence of the Debussy piece. The central "Pantomime" offered opportunity for elaborate rhythms and colorful playing from the woodwinds. The surging "Danse generale" brought the concert to a swirling, stirring final climax.

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Opera Review: They Could Be Royals

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 03 Jun 2019 20:27:00 +0000

Amore Opera throws Verdi's Masked Ball.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

A throne of games: Tenor José Heredia (center, prone) dies at the end of Un ballo in Maschera/
hoto by Ashley Becker © 2019 Amore Opera.

The Amore Opera ended its tenth season on Sunday afternoon with a performance of Un Ballo in Maschera. Of Verdi's mature operas, Ballo is unique. It is closer to French comic opera in style than anything else the composer wrote, even if it follows the musical conventions of Italian opera with only a sprinkling of French flavor in its score. The text is in Italian, and the musical style is late Verdi, with an almost-Wagnerian use of repeated themes attached to its characters. Although it has a tragic ending, there is am airy lightness to the music and the stage action, which frames a simple love triangle against a wrenching political assassination.

Ballo had a tortured history. It originated as a Eugene Scribe libretto, set as the 1833 grand opera Gustave III by the composer Daniel Auber. With the help of Alessandro Somma, Verdi recycled Scribe's libretto. Gustavo III (as it was first called) retells the story of an historical Swedish king who was assassinated by a courtier at a glittering masked ball in Stockholm. However, trouble with the censors in Naples forced Verdi and Somma to change the name of the opera (twice!) move the action, first to Pomerania and then to "glamorous" colonial Boston, and finally withdraw the work altogether. For the opera's Rome premiere, poor old King Gustavo was demoted to "Count Riccardo, the Earl of Warwick." This assuages censorious objections to a royal assassination onstage All this left directors with a problematic opera that has two sets of character names and two very different location options.

King Gustav III of Sweden (left) and his two brothers. As far as we know they didn't try to kill him.
Painting by Alexander Roslin for Wikimedia Commons.

Director Nathan Hull opted for the Swedish setting for the opera, indicating this in the first act with a throne emblazoned with that country's "three crowns" crest and blue-and-yellow Swedish flags prominently displayed. However, the characters had their "Boston" names: Riccardo, Renato, Ulrica and the conspirators and would-be assassins "Samuel" and "Tom." (Maybe they're easier to pronounce?) The staging was absolutely traditional, white wigs for the fellas, gowns for the ladies and a small chorus and orchestra that was the right size for the small Riverside Church Theater that has become this company's home base. Under the baton of Douglas Martin, the reduced orchestral forces actually clarified Verdi's themes for the listener, with the woodwinds balancing well with the strings.

Sunday's performance had a good cast, led by the round and forceful voice of tenor Jose Heredia. He may not have brought too much depth to Riccardo (the character isn't that complicated) but he sang with power when needed and a genial tone. He made the final turn, where a dying Riccardo forgives his assassin with great skill, drawing sympathy and pathos in those too-brief passages thar (somewhat abruptly) end the opera. As Amelia, object of the King's affections, Ashley Becker gave a performance that walked the line between bel canto tone and spinto power, singing her great scene in the second act with real human emotions and even managing Verdi's few, but challenging low notes.

No character has a longer or more tortured emotional journey in this opera than Renato. He is the King's secretary, bestie and Amelia's husband. Eventually it is jealousy over the perceived (but unconsummated) relationship between his wife and the King that causes him to join the conspiracy and lead the assassination. In some ways, this character is a sketch for Otello. Written for the baritone voice (and sung here by Jonathan R. Green, this character veered from nobility to jealousy to regicidal rage. However, unlike Shakespeare, Renato's wrath falls not on his wife but on his perceived rival.

Things reach a boiling point when Renato, who has agreed to escort the King's trysting partner home, sees this woman unmask herself in front of a group of courtiers who have hurried there to assassinate the King. His humiliation leads to one of the most delicately written passages in Verdi, the "laughing chorus" as the would-be killers exit guffawing over Renato's sudden humiliation. This was led by basses Jay Gould and Charles Gray as Samuel and Tom and sounds almost like a passage from an operetta. Far heavier is the great baritone aria "Eri tu" with Mr. Green chewing the budget scenery and giving full vent to Renato's fury with his boss and his wife.

Key supporting players started and finished strong. Notable among these were Christa Dalmazio in the trouser role of the page Oscar, who seemed to have stepped out of a Mozart drawing-room comedy and into an exercise in deadly irony. Also, Galina Ivannikova brought the full power of her mezzo to Ulrica, the witch whose prophecies turn out to always be right. It is to the Amore Opera stage crew's credit that the scene in her demesne was among the most effective in the opera. There was a boiling cauldron, lots of dry ice and an eerie atmosphere. Maybe they should recycle all these elements plus Mr. Green's baritone and consider doing Verdi's Macbeth.

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Concert Review: The Harrowing

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 03 Jun 2019 03:58:00 +0000

The New York Philharmonic revives John Corigliano's Symphony No. 1.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Composer John Cortigiano: his Symphony No. 1 was played at the New York Philharmonic
for the first time in 27 years. Photo © Sony Classical.

The New York Philharmonic is in the middle round of “Music of Conscience,” a season-ending three-week festival celebrating works written with the purpose of correcting great social injustices. This week featured the very necessary return of John Corigliano’s Symphony No. 1, subtitled Of Rage and Remembrance. Commissioned by the Chicago Symphony Orchestra and last heard at the Philharmonic in 1992, this is a a powerful three-movement cenotaph in sound, dedicated to the memory of the thousands of Americans cut down by the AIDS crisis and the government’s cruel indifference.

Pride Month started in New York Saturday night, and the Philharmonic responded accordingly. Staff members handed out pins with the orchestra’s spidery logo emblazoned against the rainbow Pride flag in black. On the concourse of David Geffen Hall stood huge displays: sections of the AIDS Memorial Quilt, which was first shown on the National Mall in Washington D.C. in 1987. Inside, the Corigliano work was prefaced with a pair of pensive classics by Brahms and Mozart. The musicians, including Philharmonic music director Jaap van Zweden, sported the Pride pins.

The Brahms Tragic Overture was an appropriate start to the concert, with the orchestra playing under an enormous, looming concert lighting rig that was there for rehearsals of next week’s David Lang opera. Mr. van Zweden is good at drawing out the peculiar way that Brahms writes orchestral voicings. Grouped woodwinds, noble horns and strings create a mellifluous, full-throated song eerily like a massed choir of human voices. The Overture spun forward in its perfectly balanced construction, a symphonic movement that only lacks three brothers to make it complete.

Next, a Steinway and (unusually) a straight-backed chair were placed for soloist David Fray in Mozart's Piano Concerto No. 24 in C minor. Of this composers two concertos written in a minor key, this is the more tragic and internal, a series of sad threnodies for the keyboard answered by the tutti players, Mr. Fray is an artist unknown to this writer, but he played with an appropriate lightness and delicacy of touch that suited the late-rococo figuration of the final movement.

At the start of the second half, Mr. Corigliano came onstage to introduce his work to new listeners. He painted a bleak road map, explaining how certain key themes were references to souls he had known, reaped too early by the plague. A tinkling offstage piano was for a teacher of his who loved Albeniz, a central dance movmement reflected the terror of AIDS-induced dementia and a cello melody for his friend Giulio opened the finale.

This stark and uncompromising piece started with a crie de couer, a monstrous A chord in brass, percussion and strings. It's sound wave was by the addition of a metal plate struck hard with a hammer. This terrifying sound returns again and again, the raising of an alarm as the crisis mounted. The pulse emerged, the human heartbeat at first steady and then barrelling like a freight train down upon the listener in a frantic orchestral roar. Slow strings announced the arrival of the Albeniz piano theme, tinkling from offstage and then played by the same soloist from among the orchestra.The movement ended in powerful, apocalyptic fashion carefully controlled, bottled and stoppered by Mr. van Zweden.

That movement was barely preparation for what followed,a terrifying Tarantella. Mr. Corigliano, recycling a theme from his 1970s work Gazebo Dances, subverts that traditional Italian dance. Strummed mandolins trill, answered and amplified by plucked and strummed violins. Suddenly the music careens into a fortissimo passage as if the listener is suddenly dropped through a trapdoor onto a backwards roller coaster. This movement had great emotional intensity, reflecting the idioms of both Mahler and Shostakovich but in a way that was lyric, Italianate and uniquely the voice if Mr. Corigliano.

The final movement offered some serenity in Giulio’s Song, a passage for solo cello played by Carter Brey) and eventually supported by his desk ate, this sad theme acted like the trigger of a massive final Rondo, eventually giving way to a rising passage that climbed toward a major key. The A note returned again and again, more uplifting each time it was heard. Hope is a beautiful thing. It was also the last thing that Mr, Corigliano pulled out of his Pandora’s box of orchestral tricks. As presented here by Mr. Van Zweden and this orchestra, hope was a very fine thing indeed.

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Recordings Review: The World's Strongest Man

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Sat, 01 Jun 2019 06:00:00 +0000

Marek Janowski's second take on Siegfried.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

What mutters most: Stephen Gould in Siegfried.
Photo by Michael Pöhl © Vienna State Opera.

Starting in 1958, the Decca engineer John Culshaw and his team of technicians took six years to record all four parts of Wagner's Ring cycle in a converted ball room in Vienna. By contrast the conductor Marek Janowski and the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra moved on to Siegfried, the third part of the cycle with astonishing speed. This recording was made in March of 2013, just five months after the same forces made their Die Walküre. Its release as the penultimate chapter in both the Ring and the conductor's survey of the ten Wagner operas is a marvel of efficiency, as is the label's decision to lower costs by squeezing the opera onto three discs. As before, Mr. Janowski made a live recording (on March 1, 2013) in the Berlin Philharmonie, the storied and pentagonal hall that is home to the Berlin Philharmonic.

It is only the sturdiest, most faithful Wagnerite who names Siegfried as their favorite part of the Ring. (For the record, your humble scribe falls into that category.) It is a long opera with no female singing parts in the first act no proper arias no choruses and a grueling total roll which Wagner may have written for a tenor that does not actually exist. Every performance of Siegfried requires some form of compromise both from conductor tenor and audience. The poor guy has to be on stage singing for three and a half-odd hours of the opera's four hour length . Performances require heldentenors to learn how to bang anvils in strict time with the conductor, slay dragons in their sleep and most difficult of all sing a 30 minute duet with a fresh dramatic soprano whose character has been asleep for much of the opera.

Here, that lot falls to the American tenor Stephen Gould who does his doughty best. (This is his third commercial recording of the opera, with a 2009 set from Bayreuth and another from Vienna, both conducted by Christian Thielemann to his credit.) His voice has a dark timbre to it, capable of childlike innocence and ringing fortissimo notes. The singer also benefits from the controlled conditions of the PentaTone recording setup, working with a live orchestra in front of an audience at the Berlin Philharmonie. This means he doesn't have to do anything except wear a tux and sing--an ideal state of affairs. It also meas that great passages like the Forging Song do not have the same sheer physical strain required in the opera house, thus making for an ideal home listening experience.

Christian Eisner, who sang Loge earlier in this cycle makes a strong impression as Mime, the depraved Nibelung dwarf responsible for being Siegfried's teacher, foster parent, and less attractively, would-be murderer. Indeed, he and Mr. Gould are at times very close in timbre, their voices slashing and cutting each other through the endless Act I arguments over the state of Siegfried's broken sword. (It should be noted that this is a common problem among teenagers.) Mr. Eisner is characterful and pointed, without the grinning, mugging and dwarfish sound effects that so many Mimes indulge in onstage. He finds the musical line, no matter how jagged it is, excelling in the scene where Mime (futilely) tries to teach Siegfried what "fear" is, and in the remarkable scene where the (unarmed) dwarf dies at the hands of the young strongman.

Tomasz Konieczny's brief scenes as the Wanderer are a treat--partially because the lower writing that Wagner gave this incarnation of the god Wotan suits his voice admirably. He sings with great gravitas in the Act I riddle scene (where Wagner anticipates Tolkien by having the Wanderer and Mime engage in three rounds of very deadly "jeopardy") and adds weight to his scene in Act II with Alberich (Jochen Schmeckenbecher, again excellent.) The god's final bow in Act III is magnificently sung, and only marred by an extraneous percussion effect (which may or may not be in the score, I need to look it up) at his exit. Matti Salminen is his unmistakably forceful presence as Fafner, still roaring convincingly but now producing the notes with more effort so they sometimes sound shouted.

As Brunnhilde, Violeta Urmana uses her powerful, laser-like soprano to good effect from her Awakening all the way through the long scene with Mr. Gould. These two singers have some experience of each other and it shows as they fall into the easy rhythms of "Ewig war ich" before charging up the musical mountaintop to its summit. Anna Larsson is a compelling Erda, making her scene with the Wanderer make dramatic sense--no easy feat in this opera. The last woman in the cast is Sophie Klussman--her entry as the Forest Bird in Act II lifts much of the opera's gloom and brings the story toward its happy fairy-tale ending.

In his second recording of the opera (the first was for a complete Dresden Cycle released in 1982) Mr. Janowski continues to find success in mining the beautiful passages of this score. He pulls the listener in through the dark Prelude to Act I in which Mime dwells on his fears of both Siegfried and the dragon Fafner. Other glories include the delicately accompanied "Staarenlied" (a real spotlight for Mr. Eisner) and the build-up to the forging of the sword. He conjures the darkness outside Fafner's cave and the transition to the delicately played Forest Murmurs scene. The prelude to Act III is where he really brings the thunder, navigating Wagner's shift in musical style (the third act of this opera was written twelve years after the second) and bringing the listener along on the new and denser path of the composer's late style. Finally, the ending is radiant: Siegfried is the only Ring opera with a happy ending (of sorts) and Mr. Janowski does his best to make it jubilant.

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Recordings Review: Dark Wings, Dark Words

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 31 May 2019 17:32:00 +0000

Marek Janowski's Berlin Die Walküre.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Fraternization: Melanie Diener and Robert Dean Smith in Die Walküre.

Photo © PentaTone Recordings, courtesy Naxos Classics.

This Die Walküre was recorded in one day (November 24, 2012) at the Berlin Philharmonie. The second part of Marek Janowski's second complete Ring Cycle, it is a searing, exciting performance that has all the benefits of a live recording, within controlled conditions that are similar to the studio environment. The sound is sweeping and crystal clear, swooping through the stereo sound-picture like a host of warrior maidens on flying horseback.

Mr. Janowski and the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra are within sight of the finish line of their ten-opera Wagnerthon for PentaTone, and the excitement shows in every bar of the score. He opens the opera's first act with a furious storm scene and thrusts the listener into the drama of this burly warrior, a married woman and their discovery of each other and forbidden, incestuous love. Mr. Janowski molds the arc of this long act carefully, and achieves repeated, orgasmic payoffs as the act rockets to a close.

Robert Dean Smith is a sturdy Siegmund, with a bright, slightly "white" tenor voice that is a shade too noble for this seasoned warrior. He rises to the occasion in the great cries of "Wälse! Wälse!" but does not overdo the note values by holding them for an excessive amount of time. The voice opens and blooms in the big "Winterstürme" aria, sensitively accompanied by the rolling wave of the Berlin players. His greatest dramatic moment comes in the Act II confrontation with Brunnhilde, as he realizes that while he is invited to Valhalla, his beloved Sieglinde is not on the guest list. In that crucial moment when Siegmund threatens to kill his twin sister, Mr. Smith achieves something close to pathos.

His Sieglinde is soprano Melanie Diener, who captures the mystery and conflict of this woman, trapped in a marriage to the goonish Hunding. She sees her salvation and opportunity in this stranger, and convincingly falls in love with her brother in the course of the quick first act. Her spouse is played by Finnish bass Timo Riihonen. Singing with dark, full tone and resonant power to spear, Mr. Riihonen seems to enjoy the role of antagonist. He is also excellent in the second act, bellowing menacing lines over a pounding orchestra and making it sound easy. It isn't.

The breakout performance here is Tomasz Konieczny's carefully considered and fully mature Wotan. Anyone who (like this writer) was impressed by Mr. Konieczny's portrayal of Alberich (the villain of the Ring) at the Met earlier this season should hear this. He sings the score with attention to every detail in the music, capturing Wotan's bravado and the turmoil that follows in his long duet with his wife Fricka. (This is the veteran mezzo Iris Vermilion, who sounds merely as if she is finally out of patience with her philandering hubby. In the scene with Brunnhilde that follows, Mr. Konieczny unveils the scared little godling that lurks underneath all his bluster. With Mr. Janowski's quick-footed conducting, the long Act II monologue flies by, although none of the meaning is lost.

Less successful is Petra Lang, who falls into the category of Brunnhildes that are long on power and volume but shorter in beauty of voice. She pulls the famous "Hojotoho" cries hard and high, blazing fastballs past the listener. She does carry off the crucial "turn" in the character in the Annunciation of Death (where Brunnhilde learns compassion and decides to save Siegmund on the battlefield) but the overall effect of the performance is enigmatic. We never learn what makes this Valkyrie tick, and she is asleep at the end of the opera before we can learn more.

Thanks to Mr. Janowski's generally quick tempos, the first half of Act II, (two long scenes of dialogue (between Wotan and Fricka and then Wotan and Brunnhilde) never flags. The second half, starting with the entry of Siegmund and Sieglinde on the run from Hunding is genuinely thrilling stuff, as the Valkyrie makes a series of fateful decisions in an effort to save the twins from Hunding's wrath. The best moment is when Wotan kills Hunding "with a glance", a moment that can seem comical in the theater but here becomes absolutely inhuman and chilling. The third act is one glorious arc, from the soaring and quick-footed Ride of the Valkyries to the last pages of the Magic Fire Music, the latter played with the dedication and focus that is usually reserved for chamber music.

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Recordings Review: Meet the New Gods

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Thu, 30 May 2019 18:00:00 +0000

Marek Janowski records his second Das Rheingold.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Second time around: Marek Janowski conducted his second recording of the Ring
in Berlin. Photo by Felix Bored for PentaTone.

(Note: This is an updated version of a 2013 Superconductor review, republished in advance of coming reviews of the rest of the cycle in the next week.)

Any recording of Das Rheingold, the "preliminary evening" to Wagner's mighty tetralogy Der Ring des Nibelungen must, in the course of review be compared to the classic Decca recording made in 1958 with Georg Solti and the Vienna Philharmonic. So let's do that first. No, this new recording from Marek Janowski and the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra (released in 2013 on the PentaTone label) doesn't have much similarity to the Solti. Nor is it the "new standard", "the best" or even the "best-sounding" recording of this four-scene prelude to the main action of the Ring. However, as a document capturing some interesting young artists and a snapshot of the current state of international Wagner singing, it certainly has value.

This is the first installment in a complete Ring cycle and the seventh of ten entries in Mr. Janowski's series of the major Wagner operas on PentaTone. (If you're keeping score at home, this is also Mr. Janowski's second commercial recording of the Ring. It follows the digital stereo set that first came out on EuroDisc with the Dresden Staatskapelle in 1982.) Like the earlier entries in the PentaTone series, this was recorded with the Berlin Radio Symphony Orchestra at live concerts (with an audience) in the Berlin Philharmonie. It boasts a broad stereo picture and sparkling, state-of-the-art sound, and the excellent playing of this lesser-known Berlin band.

The reason to buy an SACD recording of the Ring is the wide stereo sound picture. Here, it is very impressive. In the first bars of the Prelude, the buzzy vibration of the bass strings oozes out of the speakers, joined by the contrabass tuba playing pedal-tone and the the smooth, rich entry of the eight horns. Sound effects (something that gets overdone in many recordings of Rheingold!) are kept to a minimum, but the two entries of the anvil players (banging rhythmically on metal bars to imitate the hammering of Nibelung dwarves) are a complete success.

Mr. Janowski takes a brisk, efficient approach to this score, keeping one foot on the accelerator and driving the orchestra forward with tireless energy. He always supports the singers, shading the orchestra for quiet passages and summoning frightening power for Alberich's curse on the Ring in Scene Four. Without any stage machinery to worry about, the performance moves along under full sail. There is a crisp edge to big moments like the revalation of the Rhine-gold and the entry of the Giants. Tempi are consistently fast throughout (as with most of the other sets in this series) and the narrative scenes never meander or drag.

The singers are consistently interesting: a strong group of rising Wagner artists. Start with the delicious but nasty Alberich of Jochen Schmeckenbecher, whose rapid transformation from would-be-Lothario to would-be-world-beater happens with terrifying speed. The Act III narrative where (in true Bond-villain form, he lays out his plans for world conquest) is thrilling, with the orchestra emitting rising columns of dark sound to illustrate the dwarf's evil pland. Mr. Schmeckenbecher is even better in his last scene, when he makes Alberich into a towering figure in the spat, snarled curse on the Ring.

Tomasz Konieczny's Wotan has all the energy of a bustling, ambitious god out to conquer a world he already rules. Iris Vermillion is the senior member of this cast (much as Kirsten Flagstad was in the Solti Ring.) She presents a rich, plummy Fricka, more the eternally beset companion than the nagging wife. Tenor Christian Elsner is a compelling Loge, pulling the listener down the rabbit-holes of his long narrative passage in the second scene and engaging in sharp-edged comic banter with Mr. Schmeckenbecher in Scene 3 and 4. The lesser gods are fine, with standous including the young tenor Kor-Jan Dusseljee as Froh and Antonio Yang's burly Donner.

One of the advantages of making a concert recording of Das Rheingold is that the singers (presumably clad in concert attire before the live audience) do not need to dress up as giants, mermaids or Nibelungs. The supporting cast gives some very fine performances. Andreas Conrad is a memorable, sniveling Mime--hopefully he'll resume the part when Mr. Janowski records Siegfried. Gunther Groissböck and Timo Riihonen are compelling as the giants Fasolt and Fafner (respectively) with the former delivering a lovely little solo as he describes Freia's (Ricarda Merbeth) womanly assets. Finally, this set is blessed with a strong trio of Rhinemaidens (Julia Burchert, Katherine Kammierloher and Kismara Pessatti). They are all-important as they get the first and last word in this opera.

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Concert Review: Music of (Easy) Conscience

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Wed, 29 May 2019 16:44:00 +0000

The New York Philharmonic opens a three-week festival to end its season.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Conductor Jaap van Zweden leading the New York Philharmonic.
Photo by Chris Lee © 2019 The New York Philharmonic.

The New York Philharmonic is in the endgame of its spring 2019 season, the orchestra's first with Jaap van Zweden as its music director. That endgame is a three week festival dedicated to "music of conscience". This loose aggregation covers symphonies and a new opera by David Lang in the coming weeks, with the connection between works being the creation of music at times of great social and political storm and stress. On Tuesday night, Mr. van Zweden led the last concert of the first program of the festival pairing pieces by Beethoven and Shostakovich. Though these two men lived in very different times and political climates, each work had the benefit of being readily familiar to even the most conservative members of the audience.

The first half of the program was dedicated to the Shostakovich Chamber Symphony in C minor. This is a symphony in name only. In fact it is a reorchestration (by Rudolf Barshai) of the composer's String Quartet No. 8. This is one of the few pieces Shostakovich wrote outside the Soviet Union, dashing its five movements off in just three days in 1960. It is a stormy five-movement work that ranks among the most popular Shostakovich chamber works. Barchai expanded the spidery string lines into a richer orchestral fabric but ran into the problem that plagues all who would rewrite string quartets for the five parts of a string orchestra: what role to place the double basses in. They do little but supply deeper rhythmic chug alongside the cello parts.

The opening bars are instantly familiar to anyone who's ever watched a 20th century film about the horrors of war. The opening theme is the familiar "signature" motif used by Shostakovich in much of his middle period. This theme, D-E flat-C-B natural is notated (in the German system) as "D-S-C-H", forming the composer's initials in that language. This bit of code is omnipresent in the five movements, its pensive presence putting the composer himself as the protagonist of his own work. There are also frequent callbacks and cross-references to great past triumphs, such as themes from the First and Fifth symphonies, and two quotes from Lady Macbeth of the Mtsensk District, the controversial opera that so offended the delicate sensibilities of Josef Stalin.

Under Mr. van Zweden, this musical odyssey veered into rocky shoals and dangerous waters. The Allegretto charges forward with staccato string themes suggesting a fugitive on the run from hunting secret police, the D-S-C-H coming out like a panicked scream. The halting, skittering central movement uses the large palette to great effect, with soft-loud dynamic creating the illusion that the protagonist has found some form of shelter. It doesn't last. Droning strings are attacked by harsh interjections from cellos abd basses. The overall effect of the five movements was powerful and cumulative, its emotional impact undiminished despite the best bronchial efforts of Tuesday night's audience.

Beethoven's Third, the 'Eroica' Symphony is a bread-and-butter work, and yet these concerts mark the first time that Mr. van Zweden conducted this symphony in New York. Its political history is well-known. Beethoven originally created this massive symphony, the first in its genre to clock in at over 45 minutes in length, as a tribute to the rising Corsican politician Napoleon Bonaparte. However, when Bonaparte chose to crown himself as Emperor, the composer, in his disgust, struck out the title and renamed it the "Eroica ("heroic") Symphony, to commemorate the memory of a great man."

Under Mr. van Zweden, the orchestra seemed tentative and even a little sluggish in the first movement. Some crucial moments, like the cello-bass chords that sound as if the orchestra is playing "backward" were blurry and passed by with little effect. However, the rushing stream of melodic invention gained momentum and power as the music whirled forward and plunged into the recapitulation. The funeral march was taken at an unbearably slow dirge, and one wished for a little more surge and spring in the step of the pallbearers.

Matters improved with the Scherzo. This was lilting, playful and finally aggressive thanks to the hard punch of the timpani and brass. The big choir of horns in the trio is always a nail-biter (especially given the changes in the Philharmonic brass section.) The results here were very solid indeed. The finale rushed forward so its opening salvo would not be ruined by more inter-movement audience applause. It was everything it should’ve been. Beethoven’s grand design merged from the plucked ground bass like a titan bursting out of the Earth, then striding majestically off into a glorious musical sunset.

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Charred Meat, Pot Stills and (oh yeah) Classical Music

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 27 May 2019 22:22:00 +0000

Burgers, Bourbon and Beethoven opens the summer festival season.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Outdoor hors d'oeuvre: a string trio plays Mozart in Green-Wood Cemetery.

The summer classical music season got off to its official start this weekend in the most unlikely of locations. On Saturday night, The Death of Classical, an organization dedicated to performing great music works in the realms of the dead, launched the second season of its Angel's Share series in Green-Wood Cemetery. That sprawling Brooklyn necropolis was the site for Burgers, Bourbon and Beethoven: part cookout, part whisky tasting and part concert. The event was the three-headed brainchild of Andrew Ousley, concert promoter, music publicist and man about town. (He also founded The Death of Classical which puts on The Crypt Sessions in Harlem as well as The Angel's Share.)

It was a good idea, introducing lovers of fine, sensually grilled meat patties and craft whiskey to the music of Beethoven and Schubert, as played by the String Orchestra of Brooklyn. The cemetery gates opened at seven, and arrivals climbed up the long driveway to the Gothic western gate, itself a New York landmark. On the far side of the gate stood a large concert tent, a temporary Brooklyn answer to the Tanglewood Shed. To its left and right stood the grilling stations, manned by personnel from Harlem Public and Madcap Café. Their goal: win the Golden Spatula, decided by vote from the meat-loving masses.

On the trail of the Golden Spatula: the hard workers of Harlem Public.
Photo by Kevin Condon for The Death of Classical.

First, the food. Grill the first (Madcap) featured a small yet well-formed patty melt on an oversized bun. While rich in bunly goodness, the meat itself was able to make its own statement, charred yet tasty and perfectly done. Grill the second was Harlem Public and they went all-out with a burger topped with peanut butter and bacon cured with whisky from Widow Jane. (There was a non-recreational version available for those with a food allergy.) Served in halfsies for hungry customers who kept coming back for more, this was the clear winner, and they took home the spatula.

The first bourbon stand was here, a prime location for Red Hook's own Widow Jane Distillery. With short measures of bourbon for inspiration, we set off on the steep paths of Green-wood in search of bourbon and rye, poured in little tasting thimbles for our enjoyment. Additional refreshment was provided with stations featuring pita chips from nearby Aladdin Bakery (owners of Baked in Brooklyn) and bottled water to clear the palate, though it would have been nice to sample some of these potables over ice. Ahh well, one must make do.

On line for whiskey that has been forced to listen to Metallica. We all do it growing up.
Photo by Kevin Condon for the Death of Classical.

Up a steep driveway and to the right one found the stand of Blackened American Whisky, the new venture from California-based bards Metallica. This is advertised as a blended whiskey with elements of rye, finished in blackened brandy casks. The whiskey is then exposed to playlists of "dark-wave" Metallica tunes. Each set of songs was chosen on a rotating basis by one of the four band members. All this detail was supplied by their representative, who poured a liberal helping of the pale, sharp liquid with a slight hint of cherries, a success because of (or despite) its unique manufacturing process. (Author's note: The playlists are available on the whiskey's official website. There are no cover tunes, one song from St. Anger so far, nothing from the much-loathed Lou Reed collaboration Lulu.)

Beyond the whiskey tables, musicians lurked, playing soft reminders of the reason we were really here on this gorgeous spring day. Overlooking the memorial to DeWitt Clinton, three string players sawed through Haydn and Mozart chamber pieces, accompanying the tasting of whiskies from Vermont's Whistlepig (sweet and excellent) and upstate New York's Five&20 Rye. But the clear champ was the Van Brunt Stillhouse, also from Red Hook, buttery and mellow with a taste that blossomed on the palate. More please. They obliged. (I had a second Metalliwhiskey too--whaddya want I'm a fan.)

The String Orchestra of Brooklyn plays Beethoven under the tent. Photo by Kevin Condon for the Death of Classical.

Oh yeah. The concert. The musicians assembled under the big tent in front of the audience, which seemed to treat Schubert's immortal Unfinished and Beethoven's Fifth as a sort of curiosity. That said, these performances by this young orchestra under the baton of Eli Spindel had a certain raw enthusiasm and passion: particularly in the anguished development of the Schubert and the bold minor-to-major transition that begins the final movement of the Fifth. The latter was bold, imprecise and passionate, music from the heart. Or it could have been the whiskey.

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Concert Review: Two Tickets, No Paradise

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Thu, 23 May 2019 18:27:00 +0000

Gianandrea Noseda conducts at Carnegie Hall.

by Paul J. Pelkonen

The Carnegie Hall calendar is released every year in the final week of January, but not everything on that august and immense document comes to fruition. The concert originally planned for this Sunday would have featured Gianandrea Noseda conducting Verdi’s grand opera I Vespri Siciliani in its five-act entirety with the Teatro Regio di Torino. Its substitute: a two part choral concert with Mr. Noseda leading the National Symphony Orchestra, who are based in Washington D.C. at the Kennedy Center.

Mr. Noseda filled the void with two enormous and tangentially related works: the Dante Symphony by Franz Liszt and the setting of the Stabat Mater by Gioachino Rossini. The latter was completed long after the composer had stopped making operas and was enjoying a long retirement as the grand old man of the Parisian salons. These works are relative rarities, and are tied together in that they both contain an Doration of the Virgin Mary in their respective texts.

Liszt was a master at reducing large scale orchestral and operatic works into elaborate transcriptions for his concerts. However, when called to reverse that process and write for large orchestra, he had all the subtlety of a piano thrown with a trebuchet. The Dante Symphony is unconventional: cast in two movements with an added appendage. The composer set only the first two parts of The Divine Comedy, Inferno and Purgatorio. On the advice of his friend and future son-in-lae, he elected to convey the mysteries of Paradise with a few lines from the Magnificat, a hymn to the Virgin.

Under Mr. Noseda’s enthusiastic leadership, the entrance into the Inferno was depicted with a series of slamming brass chords eructed by the trombones and trumpets. The work then spirals downward through the nine circles of hell in the format of a long sonata movement. Its development was lush, lyric and romantic, depicting the damned lovers Paolo and Francesca. The recapitulation was masterful, the opening movement now twisted and embellished with demonic orchestral laughter. (We get it. Hell is bad.)

Purgatorio is very different, an upward climb up Dante’s mountain as the sinner tries to atone for each of the seven deadly sins. These each received their little orchestral portrait, but the experience proved akin to trying to take in all the details on a particularly busy and ornamented medieval cathedral. At the apex came the quick whiff of heavenly Paradise: Liszt's setting of the Magnificat sung by the women of the University of Maryland Concert Choir and soprano soloist Erika Grimaldi.

Rossini’s Stabat Mater stands next to the Verdi Requiem as one of the greatest hybrids between operatic style and church music. It is a setting of a medieval poem depicting the anguish of the Virgin Mary witnessing the crucifixion of her son Jesus. Rossini broke the work into ten movements, taking the listener on a spiritual journey that is accompanied by driving rhythms, delicate a capella segments and the composer’s trademark tune-writing--this may be the catchiest depiction of these horrific events ever penned.

That disparity didn't stop Mr. Noseda and his forces from delivering a thrilling performance. Standouts included tenor Michael Angelini making the most of his big aria in the second movement (one of those idiosyncratic and hummable Rossini tunes) and bass-baritone Marko Mimica. This fine singer sang his passages with a formidable weight. Ms. Grimaldi and mezzo Chiara Amarati proved eloquent and compelling soloists, backed by a razor sharp and well prepared chorus, at the works climax, Mr. Noseda’s tall, angular frame nearly achieved liftoff.

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Concert Review: Slip-Slidin' Away

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Tue, 21 May 2019 19:10:00 +0000

Valery Gergiev and Daniil Trifonov return to Carnegie Hall.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Six years and some months ago, the pianist Daniil Trifonov made his debut at Carnegie Hall. On Saturday night, Mr. Trifonov re-teamed with Valery Gergiev, now at the helm of the MET Orchestra. Mr. Gergiev spent many years as a principal guest conductor at the Metropolitan Opera, and one assumes that the players remain familiar with his eccentric conducting style. This was the first of three scheduled spring concerts by New York's greatest opera orchestra, an annual tradition at this venue following the end of the opera season.

The Schumann concerto had its origins as a single-movement work, a free-flowing fantasia for conductor and orchestra. "Free-flowing" might also characterize Mr. Trifonov's performance, which cared little for subtleties and exactitude, preferring a casual approach to the letter of the score that still paid substantial dividends to the listener. From the dramatic entrance of his instrument he then extemporized on the thematic material. accompanied by Mr. Gergiev's indecipherable hand-flutters and pinched-finger conducting.

Both of these musicians were willing to engage in this relaxed approach to this music, probing its corners for new musical thoughts and riding through the dream-like second subject. The long central development was appropriately mournful and conductor, pianist and orchestra made a dramatic return to the opening material at the recapitulation, delivering exciting results as they took the turn into the final cadenza. This was Mr. Trifonov's show, as he, hunched expanded still further on the readily available material, his long fingers delivering fireworks.

The next two movements are a bit of a musical afterthought, added only when Schumann decided to expand this work into a full three-movement concerto. The short, lyrical middle movement led the listener head-on into the finale. Both pianist and conductor led the dance through this 3/4 movement, nimbly creating room for each other as the work tumbled toward a happy and coherent resolution. There were missed notes and slipped rhythms but the end result was one of happy musical cohesion, and of further valication for the excellent instrumental abilities of this orchestra.

Following the concerto, Mr. Trifonov returned to the piano for a brief encore. This proved to be more Schumann, the first movement (marked "Nicht schnell, mit innigkeit") from the composer's Bunte Blätter. This gentle bit of proto-impressionism was played with sensitivity and warmth, with a repeated little tune that hummed over the constant flow of notes from the other hand. The warmth and depth here are indications of how much Mr. Trifonov has developed over six years, going from another ordinary pianist to something very special indeed.

Without Robert Schumann there would be no Schubert Ninth. it was Schumann who discovered the dusty manuscript of this mighty Symphony and realized what a work of genius it was. He got it performed by his friend Felix Mendelssohn in Leipzig and the rest as they say is history. (It did take some time for the ninth to become a repertory work and now no self-respecting Symphony Orchestra can live without it.) This is an expansion of Schubert's melodic abilities to the grandest of vistas. The four massive movements don't really conform to the conventional idea of a symphony, but that's part of why this work is so important, paving the way for future visionaries like Brahms, Bruckner and Mahler.

Mr. Gergiev let a performance that was for the most part content to let the music make its own statement as voiced by the superb playing of the met forces. From that noble horn call forward this was a muscular, tension-filled performance. The only tiny question mark came at the end of the first movement when Mr. Gergiev whipped out one of his willful tempo changes rushing the repetition of the main theme. However his tinkering did not hurt the overall majestic arc of Schubert's vision. The very slow second movement tried the patience of some audience members but they were rewarded with a one-two punch of the symphony's bold conclusion.

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Opera Review: Her Dark Materials

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 20 May 2019 03:58:00 +0000

On Site Opera presents Murasaki's Moon.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Another bad creation Genji (Martin Bakari) and his maker, the Lady Murasaki (Kristen Choi.)
Photo by Stephanie Berger for On Side Opera © The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

On Site Opera, Eric Einhorn's company that mounts interesting operas in extraordinary places. This week, the company presented the world premiere of Murasaki's Moon, commissioned by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and mounted in that august institution's Astor Court, a Chinese-themed meditative space hidden in the northeast corner of the second floor of the museum's main building. (If you want to visit, it's Galleries 217 and 218.) This writer attended the first of two performances on Saturday, the third of a six show run that wrapped Sunday afternoon.

Built in 1981, the Astor Garden was a dream come to life, a tribute to the childhood of philanthropist Brooke Astor, who grew up in what is now Beijing. The museum added clay-fired tiles, carefully chosen rocks and plants and woods to create this illusion of a formal Chinese garden in the 17th century. The result is beautiful but little visited: one of the most serene spaces in this bustling building. No, it's not authentically Japanese. Yes it dates from 600 years after the events depicted. But the opera's pairing with the Met's exhibit chronicling the art and creation of the Tale of Genji provides ample and authentic context to this dramatic work, and on the whole it works.

This new opera is by the team of Michi Wiancko and Deborah Brevoort. They created an extensive meditation on the relationship between Lady Murasaki (Kristen Choi) the 11th century Japanese courtier who wrote The Tale of Genji and her title character, played by tenor Martin Bakari. The accompaniment is a combination of string quartet, koto (the long Japanese zither) and two percussionists, one of whom plays taiko drum and flute. The big, heavy drum is coarse and intrusive in this serene space: deliberately so.

Part of the joy of Moon is its very exoticism, the swirl of silk kimonos on the carefully tiled surface of the ceremonial court, the movement (chorographed by Yokio Yamashita) of ink brushes on richly textured scrolls, the long runner of white silken cloth that represents the titular moonlight. (One of the problems with staging this opera in the glass-ceilinged Astor Court in daytime was that it takes place at night.) Genji comes armed with a bag of fans, their colors representing his various failed relationships and the stormy swath he cuts through the city of Kyoto. The costumes and props, by the team of Beth Goldenberg and Sydney E. Schatz are top-notch.

The opera tracks Murasaki's efforts to create an amusement for her fellow courtiers, and takes off only when Shining Genji springs to vivid life. The interactions between Murasaki and Genji take the form of a series of duets, in which Ms. Choi is playing all of the other characters in the Tale including Genji's long succession of mistresses. (This guy would do Don Giovanni proud) A superficial knowledge of the plot of the original literary was not needed--the libretto gives ample clue as to what exactly is going on here.

Mr. Einhorn kept the action flowing in the narrow acting space, flanked by seated audience members and hampered by the small size of the formal garden. Ms. Choi and Mr. Bakari dove deep into their characters, finding real weight in the moment where Murasaki finds her way to a story's end (she sends Genji into exile, and seems relieved) and redemption in the moment where the cad comes back. The singers moved and swirled in their finery, arching over a nimble score that combined the voices of eastern and western instruments to create minimal pulse, kinetic rhythms and always, strong support for the voices of the two leads.

One problem with this show is its bare-bones nature and a lack of the space and grandeur of the 11th century Imperial court in what is now Kyoto. There is also an occasionally intruding, irritating bonze (priest) who spends most of the opera objecting to the Tale being written. and the last scene reading it and recognizing himself in a moment of genuine comic shock. He represents the voice of Murasaki's unseen audience, the Japanese courtiers who were unfamiliar with the idea of a long-form narrative and yet secretly desired more. At one hour and change, this delicate nigiri of an opera left one hungry, and yet satisfied at being provided with an operatic experience unmatched anywhere else in the city.

Concert Review: The Messiah Complex

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 17 May 2019 20:33:00 +0000

Evgeny Kissin returns to Carnegie Hall.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

The chosen one, at the controls. Evgeny Kissing at Carnegie Hall.
Photo by Steve J. Sherman.

"Oh my God," the woman said. "He's amazing! He's like the Chosen One!"

Everybody loves a good salvation story, which might be why the above was said about Evgeny Kissin at intermission (right next to my seat) at last night's Carnegie Hall concert.. The storied Russian pianist made his yearly visit to the historic venue with an intelligently constructed program, dovetailing neatly between the development of music for his instrument in the 19th and 20th centuries. As the recital was sold out, Carnegie Hall added seating on the Perelman Stage, both behind and to the left of the artist as he played.

The concert started with Mr. Kissin playing three of Chopin's Nocturnes, each drawn from a different opus number in the composer's catalogue. Gentle lyricism and singing tone were the order of the day here, as the pianist made the most of his instrument's singing tone and Chopin's softly cascading rhythms. Each of these slow movements played together formed a coherent musical trilogy, although there is no special interrelation between the original works. The links here were of Mr. Kissin's invention but the poetic statement was more than valid.

Schumann's Piano Sonata No. 3 was an all-out declaration of love for the pianist Clara Wieck, who the composer would later marry. It is also a hybrid work, a piano concerto for solo instrument alone. This would be a path on which Schumann would have few followers, although other sophisticated piano composers would attempt similar creative feats in the years to follow.

Following the hot-house languors of the Chopin, the Schumann sonata acted a bracing shake of the senses. Mr. Kissin delved deep into the complicated left-hand arpeggios and the right-hand's melodic line searching for solutions or at least solace in the stormy first movement. The famous Andantino with its set of slowly developing variations on a ground bass looks backward to Beethoven and forward to Brahms in its rigorous thematic development.

Mr. Kissin brought all of his weapons to bear on the final movement of the Sonata, marked Prestissimo possible. Here at last was the artist in his fire breathing glory, summoning a storm of right-hand ornamentation to leap forward under the surging bass. Descending notes hinted at a possible Dies irae but the overall mood here was one of happy virtuosity triumphing over romantic doom and gloom. It was simply thrilling stuff.

To start the second half, Mr. Kissin took his eager listeners on a tour through both books of Debussy piano preludes, creating a journey that alternated between fast and slow movements. This allowed the sheer radical nature of Debussy's writing for the piano to thrust forward, as these works each pushed the sonic envelope in new and distinct ways. "Danseuse de Delphes" was quiet and lyrical and "Les collines d'Anacapri" seemed to predict jazz. The little tour culminated in "Feux d'artifice", a radical creation of stabbing, wide intervals over a perpetual motion figure, this one in the right hand.

There was one sonata on this program: the No. 4 by Scriabin. This quirky two-movement work shifts moods and intervals rapidly, from the open latticework of the slow movement to the lurching Prestissimo with its hints of Wagner's Tristan surging somewhere in the middle. Mr. Kissin then returned for three stellar encores: Schumann's beloved Traumerei, Debussy's Golliwog's Cakewalk from Childrens Corner and finally what the capacity crowd wanted, a brilliant Chopin waltz.

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Opera Review: Burn This

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Thu, 16 May 2019 20:33:00 +0000

Regina Opera roars back with Il Trovatore.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Manrico, the troubador, Christopher Trapani (above) finds Leonora (Alexis Cregger, below) who has taken poison rather than marry the Count DiLuna. Photo by Stephen Pisano for Regina Opera.

When putting on Verdi's Il Trovatore, it is very difficult to get the balance right. On Saturday afternoon at the first of four performances, Brooklyn's Regina Opera company struck the correct balance between dramatic energy and vocal heroics, in a performance that proves that young voices do indeed grow in the heart of Brooklyn. This was the final production of the current Regina season (their 48th) in a detailed staging by Linda Lehr that pleased traditionalists while sacrificing none of the opera's dramatic edge.

It's been a few years since Superconductor has written about Regina, the scrappy, community-oriented opera company that mounts (mostly Italian) operas every year for a devoted and tradition-loving audience. They moved to Sunset Park a few years ago from their old Bensonhurst home at the Basilica of Regina Paris, to a large, old-fashioned auditorium in the school at Our Lady of Perpetual Help. For you non-Brooklynites, that's the massive, blocky double basilica church that sits atop the ridge in this part of the borough. Its bulwark easily visible from the Brooklyn Queens Expressway and the Staten Island Ferry.

Il Trovatore is known for two things: a set of absolutely killer Verdi tunes and a fiery libretto dealing with Game of Thrones-level coincidences and betrayals. The plot centers around two brothers (who don't know they're brothers) and the actions of the hero's stepmother Azucena, who, in the middle of attempting infanticide, accidentally kills her own baby and raises Manrico instead. Any performance demands a certain suspension of disbelief, and a great quartet of singers to tackle the four demanding leading roles.

As Manrico, Christopher Trapani sang with the correct combination of machismo and distress as he hurtled through the opera's apocalyptic plot. This is essentially a series of confrontations and duels, ending with the hero's imprisonment and (offstage) execution. As his "mother" Azucena, Lara Michole Tillotson brought a powerful upper range and a deep, thrilling chest voice to this mezzo role, a half-mad figure whose thirst for bloody vengeance drives the action forward. Her "Stride la vampa" was chilling, especially when she dived down into that lower register where many mezzos fear to stretch their range.

Manrico's needs are evenly split between his relationship with Azucena and his love for Leonora, a noblewoman with a flair for dramatic (and poor) life decisions. Whether rescuing her from a convent, proposing marriage inside a besieged fortress or taking poison from a compartment hidden in an ornate ring, soprano Alexis Cregger made Leonora's life a thrilling experience. She showed a strong and supple instrument, pairing ably with the (offstage) Mr. Trapani in the famous "Miserere" scene and making her death scene moving where it is often silly.

However the breakout performance here was baritone Nathan Matticks as Count di Luna. Never has the creepy villain of this opera sounded so appealing as Mr. Matticks did during "Il balen," the great Act II aria in which he obsessed over Leonora. His final cry of the opera brought the curtain down in thundering fashion. He got the loudest shouts at the end of the performance, having walked the line between sober villainy and all out madness all the way to its end.

The supporting players, led by bass Adam Ciofarri were excellent, as was the orchestra and small chorus. In the pit (actually half the orchestra is in the small pit, Regina is planning an expansion campaign for next season) Gregory Ortega led a strong and traditional performance on the slow side. Attention to details in this low-budget production (like the metal blocks for the Anvil Chorus) made the illusion into operatic reality, all to good effect. Some fun fight staging made for exciting moments.

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We've Got a Horse Right Here: The 2018-19 Metropolitan Opera Season

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Tue, 14 May 2019 21:09:00 +0000

Perqs, re-creations and the Metropolitan Opera season that was.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Yes, this is a parody of Parks & Recreation starring (l.-r.) Javier Cammarena, Federica Lombardi
Stefan Vinke, Anna Netrebko, Kyle Ketelsen, Christine Goerge, Ambrogio Maestri and Greer Grimsley.
Original image © NBC, opera singers © The Metropolitan Opera, photoshop by the author.

Another Metropolitan Opera season is in the books, and the hard-working singers, actors, dancers, musicians, stagehands and army of support that makes up America's largest opera company is on their way to Pawnee, Indiana for some much deserved recreation at America's biggest Harvest Festival. So this year, let's call the awards the "Little Sebastians" and celebrate by awarding tiny statues of small horses, so small that you can't even see them on the Internet.

Or something.

Anyway, Here's the awards for the Met season-that-was.

Presenting: the Little Sebastians!

Best New Production: Adriana Lecouvereur
"Adriana is only revived when a star diva decides to take on the steep challenges of the title role. On New Year's Eve 2018, the Metropolitan Opera and Anna Netrebko unveiled their new Adriana in a handsome, traditional production by Sir David McVicar that surrounded the Russian soprano with an all-star cast. Set entirely on a unit stage with a rotating theater-within-a-theater, Sir David solved some of the scenic challenges of this work and did it in a coherent and well-managed manner, just as he has done with so many operas at the Met in this decade."

Best Revival: Don Giovanni
"In the classic Bill Murray comedy Groundhog Day, a caddish weatherman is trapped in a small Pennsylvania town in midwinter. He is forced to relive the same events over and over until (as the trailer says) "he finally gets it right." A similar redemption came last night for the Metropolitan Opera's first Don Giovanni this season, presented in a 2012 staging by Michael Grandage. This was the fifty-first performance of this well-worn show. Last night, it finally roared to comic life."

Best Leading Man: Ambrogio Maestri in Falstaff>
"It's not just the costumes, the mannerism and the singing. It's how Mr. Maestri puts all those elements together to create a portrait of boundless energy, unquenchable thirst and a love for life and the simple pleasures that makes Plump Jack a memorable figure. Also, great Falstaffs (and he is one) must have a tinge of melancholy laced through all the rolling belly laughs, and that quality is present too particularly in short moments like "Va, vecchio John.""

Best Leading Lady: Christine Goerke as Brunnhilde in Die Walküre...
From her first series of "Hojotohos", Ms. Goerke sang with fire and guts. She added the trills to her battle cries, thrilling the audience, and then won them over with her bright stage presence and inrtense energy. She shared a real emotional bond with Greer Grimsley's Wotan, acting not just as his foil but showing through gesture, look and glance all of the depths of the character even when not singing.

...and Siegfried
"from her awakening forward, she simply dominated the opera, singing the tender passages ("Ewig war ich") with the same wide-eyed innocence that she brought to the role in Die Walküre. This was an involved and sensitive portrayal, with the soprano rising admirably in this short but challenging part."

Best Bad Guy: Christian van Horne as Mefistofele in Mefistofele
"Against this, the devil entered, mincing in a long red tailcoat and a pair of dance shoes, a defiant figure against the order of things and yet part of them in the opera's cosmology. This sulfuric interloper was played by Christian Van Horn, a young bass from just up the Hudson River. He took on the challenging title role with a dark, grainy instrument and sharp, funny stage presence."

Best Bad Girl: Elza van den Heever in La Clemenza di Tito
"Ms. van den Heever gave a stunning performance as Vitellia, author of the conspiracy against Titus and a role that gets more dramatically over-the-top with each of her succeeding arias. Whoever coined the phrase "the higher and louder you sing, the crazier your character is" may have been talking about this particular role."

Best Debut: Tomasz Konieczny in Das Rheingold
"The best of the new blood was Tomasz Konieczny’s Alberich. His fierce presence and full-sized baritone made a towering, sympathetic figure out of the villain of the piece: a misshapen dwarf whose bad luck with three swimming Rhinemaidens touches off the opera’s series of unfortunate events."

Worst New Production: La Traviata
"Mr. Mayer chose to set Traviata in a stylized 1851 Paris, the year of the opera's premiere. The result, despite a proliferation of 1890s mutton-chopper dresses and shifting jewel tones, is in many ways very similar to what went before. The clock is gone, replaced by a double bed that spends four incongruous acts in the middle of the raked stage. (The bed is present throughout. Is its message that Violetta is always "open for business"?)."

Worst Revival: Iolanta/Duke Bluebeard's Castle
"The only light comes from projections (the designer is Bartek Macias) which appear to liberal effect on black surfaces, curtains and scrims. to create the tangled forest around Iolanta's lonely dwelling, and the even more forbidding landscapes inside Bluebeard's house. Thorny thickets, gloomy torture chambers and a seemingly infinite elevator shaft dominate the action. This last forces the soloists to sing from a platform high above stage left, creating an odd and disturbing balance of sound with the orchestra."

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Opera Review: Don't Lose Your Head

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Mon, 13 May 2019 21:15:00 +0000

New Amsterdam Opera performs Massenet's Hérodiade.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

The concert performance of Hérodiade (with mezzo Janara Kellerman in blue
in the title role) by New Amsterdam Opera on Friday night. Photo by the author.

Jules Massenet's 1881 opera Hérodiade return to the stage in New York on Friday night after an absence of 26 years. The work was staged in a concert version by the New Amsterdam Opera, Keith Chambers' small but ambitious project that offers concert performances of repertory that terrifies some larger companies. Here, Mr. Chambers and his forces were in the Center at West Park, a landmarked Presbyterian Church on the Upper West Side in the middle of a lengthy restoration project. The performance was umbrella'd under the ongoing New York Opera Fest, a two month coalition of smaller opera companies in and around New York.

Hérodiade tells a slightly different version of the events leading up to the death of John the Baptist, and its drama has a different feel and flavor to it than the more familiar Salome by Richard Strauss. (The Strauss opera did not premiere until 1905.) The French opera's four acts (Mr. Chambers opted for the revised version of the work) are firmly in the post-Wagnerian style, laced with "Oriental" exoticisms in the manner of Saint-Saëns. Hérodiade is the title character but the opera's plot is driven by the princess Salome and her love (not lust) for Jean le Baptiste. (Massenet sourced his text from a novella by Gustave Flaubert.)

Janara Kellerman sang the title role with a mezzo-soprano big enough to make even the staunchest believer quake in his boots. She caught the emotional delicacy behind the queen's bluster, a sense of profound doubt in the face of her husband's sleazy infidelity and her own sense of the terrible (metaphorical) skeletons hidden in her closet. The character has a little bit of Dalila and a little bit of Carmen, and Massenet's music brings her to vivid life.

Salome (Marcy Stonikas) is a sweeter, purer figure here. This is not the depraved child of the later Richard Strauss opera but a young woman who is genuinely interested in the teachings of John the Baptist. In some ways she is a model for that other great Massenet heroine Thaïs. The opera's violent end, in which Herodiade allows Jean to be executed and Salome then takes her own life were a little confusing in the concert setting, but this soprano used her powerful instrument to exciting and unsubtle effect.

Tenor Errin Brooks brought a huge, stentorian voice to the part of Jean, singing with bright, ringing heldentenor power. The enigmatic nature of this holy man was emphasized by a lack of titles at the performance, and Mr. Brooks did little to convey any emotion beyond a sort of beatific grace. His arias and ensemble singing made for the most exciting parts of the evening. The only regret is that (like the Strauss opera) Jean dies offstage, depriving this impressive artist of a proper death scene.

Bass Isaiah Musik-Ayala supplied a deep and orotund instrument to the role of Phanuel, the one man in Judea who knows that Salome is in fact Hérodiade's daughter. Jason Duika played Hérode as a haunted figure (the role is a baritone here) who spends most of the opera (again, it's hard to figure out the textual nuances without surtitles or a libretto) complaining about not being able to sleep. Baritone Charles Eaton played the Roman general Vitellius, whose function in this opera seems to be to fill out and support in ensembles.

Mr. Chambers supported his singers with a reduced orchestra, which was better for the smallish church but continually ran the risk of being run over by the rampant soloists. A chorus, wedged uncomfortably into the small recessional space at the top of the altar, did their best to provide Massenet's hot-house writing with color and nuance. Two of the singers also took key solo parts, one delivering the Jewish prayer that was added to bring color to this most interesting opera.

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Opera Review: Keep it in the Family

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 10 May 2019 19:54:00 +0000

The Little Opera of New York premieres Owen Wingrave.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

A man alone: Robert Balonek in the title role of Owen Wingrave.
Photo by Tina Buckman © Little Opera Theatre of New York.

Not every opera is made for the stage.

In 1971, Benjamin Britten's penultimate opera Owen Wingrave was premiered on the BBC. It was a new idea, writing operas for television, and one that was not exactly the wave of the future. Owen was seen onstage in 1973 and has enjoyed occasional revivals since. On Thursday night, as part of the ongoing New York Opera Festival, the Little Opera Theatre of New York staged the first live-action performance of the opera. The performance was at the GK Theater, tucked at the watery end of Jay Street in the shadow of the Manhattan Bridge.

The libretto, by Britten's friend Myfanwy Piper marked the pair's second setting of a ghost story by Henry James. In this case, the title character is a conscientious objector (like Britten himself) who rejects his ancient family's military legacy to stand in favor of pacifism. This moral stand proves destructive as Owen is put into a state of social and economic isolation. At the opera's climax, he attempts to prove his bravery in the face of supernatural forces, but is soon found dead.

For this performance, conductor Richard Cordova chose the smaller, lighter chamber arrangement of Britten's score made by David Matthews. This sparse orchestration let the melodic lines of Britten's score spring into sharp focus. Every scrape of a bow, tap of a timpani or offstage trumpet had the potential to be a voice of Paramore's ghosts, and the entire score has an eerie and hypnotic effect. This is Britten at his most experimental, standing on the threshold of atonal writing but never quite crossing to the other side.

As Owen, baritone Robert Balonek led the first of the two casts. He sang with dark tone and a sonorous presence, giving strength to his anti-military stance. From the opera's opening scene he was pressed on all sides by his teacher, his colleagues, and his family and Mr. Balonek stood his vocal ground. The singer's firm control and impressive presence carried over to the final scene, an epic dialogue with Kate (Katherine Pracht) that led to him being dared all the way to his death. She challenges Owen to sleep in the haunted room of the family manor Paramore. He faces this challenge but does not survive it.

Bass-baritone Matthew Curran brought a beautiful, round sonority to Coyle, the military instructor whose entire purpose in life is to prepare young men to throw themselves into the chum factory that is industrialized warfare. Coyle is a powerful authority figure who seems racked with doubt by Owen's sudden change of heart. Tenor Rufus Müller played both the role of the Narrator and Owen's cantankerous father. The latter's response to his son's newfound pacifist tendencies is to disown him at the family banquet. Maybe some traditions are better left in the dust.

Expert support was provided by tenor Bernard Holcomb as Owen's friend and fellow student Lechmere. Emily Pulley and Janice Hall played Ms. Wingrave and Mrs. Coyle, roles that involve a lot of tut-tutting and fretting about what's to be done with their Owen. Adding to the haunting effect was the use of a small children's chorus, repeating the motif that haunts the Wingrave family and leads young Owen to his doom. Their appearance at the start of Act II and return at the end of the second bookended what little action there was, suggesting that the vicious Wingrave cycle of war and death will ultimately start over.

This was a spare and minimal production by Philip Shneidman, set (as a good ghost story should be) on a dark and menacing set by Josh Smith. Three surfaces above the acting area were used as a projection surface for the Wingrave family portraits. The colors of these shifted throughout the opera, eerie and menacing at some points and innocuous at others. The simple props included antique tables and chairs were ideally placed, giving the effect of a discount version of Downton Abbey. The costumes by Lara de Brujn were similarly appropriate.

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Concert Review: Faith Without Pause

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Fri, 10 May 2019 18:12:00 +0000

Bernard Labadie leads Bach's Mass in B minor.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Bernard Labadie leads Les Violons du Roy and La Chapelle de Quebec
in Bach's Mass in B minor. Photo by Melanie Burford.

Johann Sebastian Bach's Mass in B minor is more than church music. It is a towering setting of the Catholic liturgy that while never performed in full in the composer's lifetime, can elevate the listener no matter what faith they profess. Its glories were on full display in Carnegie Hall on Tuesday night. The performance (mounted without an intermission) was by the period ensemble Les Violins du Roy and La Chapelle de Quebec under the leadership of their founder Bernard Labadie.

Bach composed the initial sections of the Mass to be dedicated to Augustus III, the new Elector of Saxony. His object (which he achieved) was the post of court composer in Dresden. In the last years of his life, the composer completed the full setting of the ordinary text of the Mass. (It may have been planned for the opening of a new church in Dresden but the composer died before the work could be premiered. The world did not hear this work in full until 1859, at the height of the 19th century revival of interest in Bach's music.

Mr. Labadie chose a traditional approach to performing this work, using modest orchestral and choral focuses as might have been done in Bach's day. The choristers surrounded the orchestra on three large walkways, divided into sopranos, altos, tenors and basses. The musicians were positioned in a unique manner. Small string ensembles were on either side of the conductor's dais, with just eight violins, two cellos and a pair of basses. A portative organ and harpsichord sat further upstage. The woodwinds and brass, seated on the outer perimeter of the ensemble, stood up to play their key passages. However, the players used modern horns and woodwinds, creating a hybrid sound.

The power of Mr. Labadie's approach was heard from the first enunciation of the opening Kyrie. Bach takes six words of Greek and stretches them out to twenty minutes, exploring every possibility in this cry for mercy. The "Christe eleison" featured the first entry of soloists Lydia Teuscher and Iestyn Davies, the latter a countertenor singing the part normally reserved for a tenor. The choristers' clear delivery and the emotional commitment was clear in each polyphonic line. The Gloria (the text switches to Latin here and stays there for the remainder of the work) is divided into nine parts, four of them solo arias. In the culmination of these, bass Matthew Brook sang "Quoniam tu solus sanctus" with warm and burry tone.

The Credo is the most textually complicated part of the Mass, and Bach did not hesitate to divide it into nine sections of great musical variance. "Et in unum dominum" is a duet for soprano and countertenor, with Ms. Teuscher dueling nimbly with Mr. Davies. Particularly stirring is the transition from the grim Crucifixus (retelling the story of the death of Christ) and the joyous outburst that accompanies the account of the Resurrection. Here, this music burst upon the ears with great and jubilant force, as Mr. Labadie urged his singers in a massive fortissimo outburst that impacted fully on the senses.

The singers were shuffled and repositioned for the Hosanna, forming two mixed groups on either side of the stage. This created a bouncing, antiphonal effect, enhanced by the thrust of trumpets and timpani, the brass instruments diving in and out of the main vocal line in feats of contrapuntal agility. In the Benedictus, the two flautists stood up. With the portative organ, they accompanied the supple singing of tenor Robin Tritschler, a promising talent who is relatively unknown to New York listeners. A reprise of the Hosanna chorus followed, before the choristers repositioned themselves back to their first positions.

The Agnus Dei forms the finale of this work. First, there's the aria: a lengthy extrapolation of the text that placed considerable but manageable demands on Mr. Davies' high instrument. He sang over a simple accompaniment, moving in its purity and clarity of expression. There was something of the ecstatic and the somber in this music, fitting the weight of the text. The second part of the Agnus Dei is the Dona nobis pacem: a slow sunrise in the chorus, carefully led to its climax by Mr. Labadie. The choral finale finally rises to a last climax with trumpets and drums but never loses the contemplative feel necessary to these words.

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Concert Review: The Fearless Academic

noreply@blogger.com (Paul Pelkonen) — Wed, 08 May 2019 19:47:00 +0000

Mitsuko Uchida plays Schubert at Carnegie Hall.
by Paul J. Pelkonen

Mitsuko Uchida and friend. Photo by Geoffrey Scheid.

There is nothing conventional about Mitsuko Uchida. At this stage in her career, the reigning grand dame of the piano recital has eschewed the traditional recital format for long concerts that are meditative studies on the work of just one composer. Luckily for Carnegie Hall audiences this season, that composer is Franz Peter Schubert, whose work she is revisiting at the conclusion of a two year journey through his piano sonatas.

On Saturday night, Ms. Uchida played the first of two concerts this season--albeit the second program scheduled. (Due to exhaustion, the artist was forced to postpone a planned April 30 appearance. That concert will now be held on June 18.) This concert explored three very different periods of Schubert's short career with three piano sonatas: the Op. 164 in A minor, the unfinished "Reliquie" Sonata and the culmination of his efforts in the genre: the four-movement Sonata in B flat, one of his last compositions.

Unlike many other composers who wrote extensively for the instrument, Schubert was not celebrated as a pianist in his lifetime. (According to friends and colleagues he was a fair talent but the life of a touring virtuoso was not for him.) His work takes the melodic gentility of Mozart and the urgency of Beethoven but strips away the wild, incisive qualities of the latter for a singing, lyric quality. This can bemuse and bewitch the unwary listener. Ms. Uchida's studied, intellectual approach restores much of the power to this music with her unwavering focus on the generation of long melodic lines, something these works have in common with the composer's writing for the human voice.

The A minor sonata has a sprightly, almost military air to it, with a cocky main theme expressed in staccato fashion. This leads to a gentle, flowing Andante, an idle tune for whistling through an idyllic countryside. It goes from simple repetitions to an increasingly rich series of variations, the melody stretched and contorted in ways that the unobservant listener might miss. The final Allegro, with its upward leap up the keyboard, led to more staccato rhythms and singing melodies for the right hand.

Some of Schubert's best projects were exercises in expanding the classical forms that, for whatever reason were left at his death in an incomplete, torso state. The best known of these is the Eighth, or "Unfinished" Symphony. Standing next to it is the "Reliquie" Sonata, also two movements of considerable size and weight. Although it premiered posthumously, this work anticipated the radical symphonic expansion of Schubert's own Great Symphony. Each of its two slow movements stretches the classical form to a great and almost unrecognizable proportion. In Ms Uchida's hands, these movements became vast forests for the listener to lose themselves in, slow, mysterious and fraught with constant peril.

That strategy of expansion of form continued in the B flat Major Sonata. The first movement of this work is a whopper, a huge formal sonata allegro written around what has become one of Schubert's most familiar and beloved themes. It is a movement marked "Molto Moderato" that takes each of its thematic ideas and wrings the maximum musical potential out of them in its lengthy development. The famous opening with its sighing theme had a gentle, tragic weight to it, a slow press on the senses into the dark inner world of the development. The less grim second subject offered some grains of comfort before the main theme returned with a steely determination.

This movement is half the length of this enormous 40-minute sonata, indicating Schubert's continued fascination with pushing boundaries in his very last works. (A similar expansion happens in the contemporaneous C Major String Quintet, which can easily hit the hour mark in a performance.) The three that follow are shorter, a slow Andante with storms under its surface, a lilting scherzo that transits into a gentle and lovely trio and a finale that uses the bell-like quality of the upper register of the piano to lull the listener through its obsessive examination of the simple rondo theme. Ms. Uchida finally exploded into a torrent for the final coda as if to say "that's enough" and trade all this introspection in for a round of wild, standing applause.

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